


The Oasis

by fadagaski



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged-like Behaviour and Responses, F/M, Favourable Furiosa-to-Max Orgasm Ratio, Handwavy Mutant Plant Reproductive Biology, Hint of Angst, Improbable Number of Orgasms per person per hour, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max and Furiosa come across an oasis in the desert with a plant they've never seen before. It has an unforeseen effect on the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oasis

The oasis is a semi-circle of verdant green tucked in the lee of a sheer rockface, protected from the worst of the sun, sand and wind that the desert can churn up. Furiosa, in the driver's seat, misses it entirely, but Max is probably more like a dog than he wants to admit, and catches the smell of water when it's just behind them.

They double back.

It takes a while to find a suitable place to park: not too close or far from the oasis, not visible from the most traversed roads, not in danger of being swallowed by any storm that should spring to life in these parts. 

Eventually they find the right spot. Furiosa slings her favourite rifle over her shoulder while she takes point, pistol in hand; Max covers her six with his familiar sawn-off shotgun and a revolver tucked into his waistband. They move silent as shadows, eyes and ears keen. Max loves and hates these moments, when his blood thrums with adrenaline and everything inside him is still and cold, waiting. 

Without speaking, they split up at the border of desert and oasis. Max heads right, scouts through thick bushes and under trailing vines. At the rockface he turns left. The only heart-stopping moment is when Furiosa ducks under a tangle of branches and nearly shoots his leg off before she registers it's him.

She gives him an apologetic smile. Max shrugs – it happens. 

“All clear,” she says. Max nods. 

Now that the imminent danger has been addressed, Max can appreciate the amazing jewel they've found. In all his years wandering the Wasteland, he's never seen anything quite so stunning. There are palm trees, not stunted little stumps like at Citadel but actual _trees_ , twice as tall as Max with solid trunks and thick canopies of dark green, shielding the oasis like a curtain. Delicate trailing vines dangle from smaller bushes in pale shades, crowded up to the treeline. Everywhere is the smell of growing things.

When he glances at Furiosa, she is equally wide-eyed, staring about her in wonder. He takes her metal hand in his own, shrugs one shoulder at her darting look, and leads her towards the centre. It's not an easy walk, for all that it's short, and Max is grateful for the solidity of his boots and the thick leather protection of his pants. 

The bushes don't go all the way to the centre. Instead, a carpet of flowers in bright reds and pinks blooms under their feet. Max pauses at the edge to drink in so much glorious colour. 

“Oh,” Furiosa sighs beside him.

In the middle is a natural pool, still and clear as a mirror. The air breathes cool against Max's perpetually hot face. He is suddenly aware of the days of grime on him like a second skin, can see the moment Furiosa notices it too. 

“Want to wash?” he asks her. Her face lightens in that way that tugs at something inside of him. Max pulls out his revolver. “I'll keep watch.”

“I'm sure,” she says slyly, and steals a kiss while he's stood reeling. By the time he's shaken his head – at her, at himself, at the mad path of his life to lead here – she's stripped off her prosthetic and shirt and is working her pants down over her thighs.

Max takes a moment to admire the way her breasts dangle while she's bent over, and the swell of her ass as it is revealed. His dick twitches, begins to swell, not an unusual occurrence near Furiosa. She catches him staring and clucks her tongue. 

Smirking, Max waggles his gun indulgently.

Furiosa chooses her steps carefully to avoid crushing any of the plants. Max really can't help the way his eyes follow her to the pond's edge. She dips her toes in, shivers at the cold but walks forward anyway. Max licks his lips at the sound of the water lapping at her thighs, her hips, her breasts, until she's finally submerged. She ducks her head and springs back up in an explosive shimmering wave. Max gapes, couldn't stop if he tried: she is a goddess among men and he is helpless before her.

He masters himself enough to turn away while she washes – he will be dead before anyone can attack Furiosa while she is vulnerably naked and unarmed – and keeps his gun cocked and ready in one hand.

Without the distraction Furiosa poses, he notices other things about this hidden place. The air is preternaturally still, not even a hint of the constant wind that haunts the desert. When he strains his hearing to listen for intruders he realises there's literally no sound. At all. No birds singing in the canopies. No insects buzzing from flower to flower. His eyes sweep the array of colourful petals again and he frowns. At Citadel they pollinate by hand. Whose hand does the pollinating here?

Kneeling, Max takes a closer look. These are flowers he doesn't recognise. Their petals are wide and gaudy, the stems luscious green with two fat leaves that are slightly rubbery in texture sprouting from the base. Dangling beneath the flower head are a pair of weird little baubles, almost like cocoons. Max pinches one between finger and thumb and tugs it off the plant. It feels rough and brittle; it paints a green chalky residue on his skin. Max lifts it to his face.

“Everything okay?” Furiosa calls. 

Max turns to nod, sucks in a breath at the sight of her: limbs gleaming long and pale, water cascading over her skin, the delicate pink buds of her nipples standing taut after the shock of cold. His mouth runs dry. 

His fingers tighten infinitesimally on the strange pod. 

It implodes in a puff of green dust that wafts up his nose. Max coughs, sneezes, can smell it and taste it on his tongue, weirdly metallic for such a pretty flower. 

A tingle quivers from his sinuses. Turns to heat as it meanders down his throat. Sparkles like lightning that ignites his heart, beating double time. Max can feel his breath quickening, the air dazzlingly sharp against his over-sensitive lips. 

“Max,” comes Furiosa's voice but it sounds different, like it's travelled a hundred miles through water to reach his ears. His head is too light on his neck, moves in slow motion, the world a blur of kaleidoscope colours. Everything is too fast and too slow and too bright, his blood is _burning_ in his veins, he can hear himself panting too fast and too loud and – 

There she is.

All his focus zooms in on her. Max stumbles to his feet, drawn like a magnet, knows in his bones that he will die if he doesn't go to her. So he does. On clumsy legs, crunching plants underfoot, bursts of green powder flooding the air. Her mouth is moving, there's a voice, it might be his name but he's moving faster than sound can reach him. Splashes into the water – she's moved forward to meet him, that's good, that's good – and he falls to his knees and sucks a searing kiss into the flesh of her belly. 

“Max!” Her fingers in his hair, pulling – shivery fire cascading down from his scalp and he is shaking, every molecule in him desperately surging forward – to look him in the eyes. She is haloed in gold, glowing with it; it hurts to look but hurts more to look away. She smells powerful, divine, he is salivating. Max closes his eyes, strains forward to taste her.

She is suddenly gone. Max whimpers, reaching blindly out but Furiosa isn't there. Opens his eyes. There, backing up out of the water, her hand outstretched towards him. Her mouth is moving again; he can't make out the words but her voice is a physical caress, stroking in delicious shivers down his spine to his cock. On hands and knees he crawls out of the water, up the small beach to where she is standing. He needs her. He needs her. 

The dust floats like a hazy green mist in the air just above Max's head. It coats his wet hands, his wet lips, her wet legs. Max licks a long stripe from her left knee to her groin. She moans, a hand caressing the back of his head, but then she shoves him away, crouches on one knee in front of him.

“Max?” 

The voice echoes round and round in his head. He thinks it's a word, and it should mean something yet he can't focus. Her lips are right in front of him, plump and red and irresistible. Furiosa sighs; it tingles over his skin. 

He watches the green dust disappear in her next breath.

Furiosa freezes. Her eyes widen. Slowly, she turns her head. The emerald of her irises is just a ring around blown black pupils. She licks gritty powder from her lips and shudders.

Max surges up. Furiosa meets him halfway. 

Her arm wraps around his neck as their mouths devour each other, spit-slick slide of messy lips and tongues and teeth, while Max's hands run greedily over Furiosa's back and ass and hips in long hot strokes. He can feel the electricity coursing from her body to his and back, a feedback loop of sparks behind his eyelids, tasting of copper between his teeth. He kisses along her jawline and down her neck, heartbeat jumping every time she gasps. 

Gritty with dust, his fingers are drawn magnetically to her thatch of dark hair, sliding between her folds with breathless ease. She is slicker than she's ever been. He rubs over her clit in quick jerks. Her moans shudder into him, cock throbbing in his pants, and he plants his mouth over her clavicle and sucks to keep from crying out. She bucks against his hand and comes with a throaty yell. 

Fingers in his hair, tugging him back to her lips. He can taste her orgasm on her tongue, licks it out of her mouth to burn in his belly. Furiosa moans as his fingers slide to her opening. She is hot and filthy wet inside, takes two fingers without a thought. He rests his thumb on her clit and lets her work, rolling onto his hand, uses his other hand to scratch at her back the way she likes, until she's coming again in moments, her whole naked front pressed against his dust-speckled clothing.

Furiosa collapses back in a plume of green powder. Max takes a deep breath and follows, can't help it, can _see_ the way electric lightning dances between them, binding and burning. His fingers slide inside her again. Furiosa cries out, a sound that staggers into his ears in stages, flashes in blinding colours before his eyes. 

Max mouths down from her neck to the mark he sucked onto her collarbone, glowing like a banked fire, then to her breasts. The green dust has mixed with the sweat and oasis water on her skin, swirling into the grooves of her puckered nipples. Max dedicates himself to licking it all up, aluminium grit over his tongue. Furiosa writhes underneath him, arching her back to press into his mouth, rolling her hips on his fingers as he slips a third inside her and crooks them up. 

He realises he's grinding into her thigh trapped between his legs. Switches to the other breast, presses the heel of his palm against her clit, and grinds harder. When she comes a third time, his hips stutter and he empties into his pants, moaning around her nipple. 

The need doesn't ebb. In fact, it burns hotter. 

Max looks up at Furiosa. Her chest is heaving, almost sobs, face flushed red and eyes squeezed shut. There is green dust all over her face. Max presses a kiss to her sternum and tries to think straight. He is sweating. Everything is a blur. His cock throbs endlessly. He can't quite remember where they are or what day it is; all he knows is that Furiosa is beneath him and there is a liquid want churning in his veins that cannot be denied.

He tweaks his fingers resting inside her, just a little. Furiosa moans. Her nub touches his head, hesitates, and then pushes down. 

Max goes willingly, leaving a hot trail of kisses in his wake.

Her legs bracket him as he settles between her thighs. His jacket bunches at crooked angles around his shoulders. It doesn't matter when she is there before his gaze, tight dark curls and the hint of flush pink beneath. He parts her lips, lowers his face and breathes deep. Her scent is a jolt straight to his groin and he ruts against the ground. 

There is suddenly nothing more important in the world than sucking on the round bulb of her clit.

Furiosa screams, legs clamping around his head and hips bucking against his chin. Max throws an arm over her pelvis to keep her from breaking his nose, but beyond that it's all blind instinct. Little grunts that jackknife her spine, his tongue hard and slick over her folds. He can hear her heartbeat thrumming through her thighs pressed to his ears, a pulse that echoes in his cock as he grinds down. 

She shakes into another orgasm that crackles on his lips. He chases it inside her with tongue and fingers. Her wetness is like salty iron; he laps it up eagerly and it pours into his veins, running white hot, igniting every nerve ending. His face is soaked in her slick, dripping off his chin, trickling over his fingers. He can barely breathe and that makes everything sharper.

Max comes before she does, a deep wave that trembles up from his thighs and has him gasping and groaning open-mouthed into Furiosa's swollen flesh; her hips rock up, inner muscles clenching hard on his fingers. The ground is unforgiving against his mindless thrusts. The tang of pain draws his balls in tight, but his cock is still hard and aching. He licks the salt from his lips and _needs_ to be inside her.

Furiosa digs her fingers into his jacket collar and hauls him up. It seems strange to feel air against his wet face, to hear something other than her heartbeat pounding in his ears. He's off-balance, tilting sideways, throws out a hand to catch himself and crushes a palmful of the little powder bombs.

The world whites out.

When he comes back to himself, Max is sucking a mark into the meat of Furiosa's neck while her fingers ruck up his shirt to scratch at the skin beneath. “Off, off, off,” she groans, voice wrecked and jangling through his nervous system. He can't work out what she means – his brain is just a chaotic chorus of frantic impulse – but when Furiosa wrestles his pants down with her knees he gets the idea. 

It's a physical pain to wrench himself away from her skin. Max manages to get his jacket off, tossed aside in another plume of dust, and his pants halfway down his thighs before the electricity sparking in blue arcs between them snaps him back. 

Furiosa welcomes him with open arms. She bites hungrily at his mouth, licking the taste of her from his lips; every hot strip of her tongue is a line of fire to his cock. The world is shaking, shaking, or maybe it's him, he can't tell: all his focus is on Furiosa, from the black of her eyes to the swell of her breasts to her legs cradling his waist. 

She worms her hand between them to grasp his cock, already smeared in come. Max gasps, hips stuttering, leaking from the tip. She guides him to her opening. He slides home.

They both cry out. Max slams his eyes shut but can still see the sounds intertwine in jagged silver shards.

His hips move of their own accord, pulling back and rolling in, driven by primal need. Furiosa wraps her legs tight around his waist, meeting him thrust for pounding thrust. Max is sweating all over, his shirt is soaked in it, running in gritty rivulets down his face. He can't keep a firm grip on her skin. In the silence of the oasis the slap of their skin is overloud, filthy, punctuated by Max's grunts and Furiosa's wanton moans. 

“Max! Max!” she cries, inner walls clenching around him, breath hitching in her lungs, and then she's coming again, hips bucking wildly. She's never orgasmed just from his cock before; some lizard part of his brain swells with pride, even as his balls draw up in readiness. Hitching her into his lap with one arm under her ass, Max fucks her as hard as he can. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can barely catch his breath, and when he finally, finally empties into her it's with a ragged cry torn from his throat. 

He collapses forward, head resting between her breasts. His lungs hurt. His arms and legs are trembling. His whole body stings like acid rain.

Furiosa squeezes around his cock. Max chokes on a groan. 

In a dizzying whirl she rolls them over. Green ash explodes around them. Max gets a mouthful, powdery and metallic on his tongue. Time stop-starts, Furiosa moving in slow motion above him against a sky that sparkles and spins. He is hyper aware of his own come dripping out of her, dribbling down over his balls in sticky lines. 

Furiosa steadies herself with one hand on his chest, hot through the sweat-soaked cloth of his shirt, and when she rises up it drags along every centimetre of his cock. Max gasps for breath, hands clutching blindly at air until he finds her thighs. The muscles shift in her legs, his only warning, before she slams back down with a dirty wet squelch. She tosses her head back, keening an animal cry, and does it again. Max holds onto her hips for dear life, sinks his teeth into his lip to keep from screaming as she rides him slow and brutal, his dick rock hard and engulfed in the blistering heat of her hole. 

It could be minutes or hours. Time smears over them. Furiosa bounces in his lap, shaking apart over and over, one orgasm flowing into the next. She grinds her clit against his pelvic bone, mouth stretched wide on a breathless shriek. All her edges are vibrating. Max can see where her skin blurs into the sky. He watches, jaw dropped and chest heaving, as their flesh blends together, welding with sparks of liquid iron. 

Max's orgasm is inevitable, almost inconsequential. Furiosa milks him for everything he's worth until his eyes roll back in his head. His brain is blank, buzzing, spinning. Encased in darkness, he can smell only copper metal and the salt of her arousal. 

Her grounding touch disappears.

Adrenaline jolts through Max's body. Loopy and light-headed, he jerks upright, squinting against the swirling colours of the oasis until he sees her. She has crawled only a metre away, legs and arms glowing with sweat and green paint. He can't see her expression because she is kneeling face-down in the flowers, but her hand is running through white stain of come between her folds, hips jerking against her fingers.

Time shudders again. 

Max finds himself biting bruises into the broad line of her shoulders. There is a trail of marks kissed up her back already. His cock is angry red in his hand, straining forward to her hole, open and messy. Max shakes his head, tries to think straight. Furiosa shoves back onto his dick. Max sucks in a ragged breath, coughing on the dusty air. 

It's agony to thrust in. It's agony not to. Max grips Furiosa's hips tight and pumps. There is a rivulet of sweat running down her back, thin and green. His eyes are drawn to it, the way it glows against her skin, pooling at the divot beside her spine. His mouth is suddenly dry. All he wants is to taste it. With the flat of his tongue he laps it up, hips gone still so he can trace the line up her back to her neck. There he sinks his teeth into the juncture of her shoulder and neck. Furiosa growls and rolls her pelvis, braces her hand against the ground and pushes upwards. 

The pain in his busted knee at this angle sharpens Max's mind, gives him a second's clarity. They are in a haze of green dust, breathing it into their lungs with every gasp, a thin sheen of it on their sweaty skin. He catches sight of the pond, gets a vague idea in his head before the molten need bubbles inside him again and he thrusts up into Furiosa. She cranes her neck to meet his mouth, sucking on his tongue in erotic pulses even as she rolls on his cock, even as her fingers flick at her clit. 

Max skates his hands over her ribs and down her sides, scratching his nails just to feel her shudder. It vibrates into him, shimmers across his eyesight, snaps like electric sparks between his teeth. He tweaks her nipples in counterpoint with his thrusts and she arches into his hands, head tossed back onto his shoulder for him to suck and kiss. 

She comes on a rough catch of his calluses, clenching around him with a primal scream. Max wraps both arms around her middle to keep her on his lap as he drives himself to completion with wild erratic thrusts. He buries his mouth into her shoulder when he comes, too-sharp spurts of whatever she hasn't taken already. 

They slide forward, down, Max half-crushing Furiosa into the broken plants beneath them. Furiosa keeps fluttering her inner walls around his cock. Max's hips twitch without conscious thought. Sparks glimmer behind his eyelids. His heart feels like it might explode, raging like a feral animal in his chest. 

The pond. Something about the pond.

Max levers himself to hands and knees, his whole body trembling violently. The moment his dick leaves Furiosa's body is like being ripped apart; they both keen at the loss. He rests his forehead on her shoulders for long breaths. His hips hump open air. He can see Furiosa grinding against the ground. Max dredges up a word.

“Water,” he croaks, almost voiceless. The vowels taste strange in his mouth, sour, the middle consonant sharp like needles behind his front teeth. 

Furisoa moans but doesn't seem to understand him. Her skin is white hot to the touch. 

Max braces himself. With monumental effort, he wrenches away. 

Every nerve ending shriek in agony. His shout is matched by Furiosa's wail. With gritted teeth Max scrambles to his feet. The world spins in sickening circles. Everything is too bright and too loud. His pants are waterlogged and caught just above his knees, twisted a little around his leg brace. Max is so attuned to Furiosa that he can hear the ragged whimper of her breaths, the crunch of brittle powder pods beneath her knees. 

He staggers towards the water, though he can't remember why. 

Furiosa tackles him at the beach. Max lands badly, jars his knee and bites his tongue. It doesn't matter though, with Furiosa sprawled on his back, shoving his shirt up to nip vicious kisses into his skin. His blood sings with it; it's all he can do not to rut his leaking cock against the sand. He sits up, turns at her tugging to get his shirt off. It's still tangled around his head when she fixes her attention on his chest, scratching her nails through the hair in long welts. She sucks steaming kisses into his skin in random places. Max is so distracted he almost forgets the shirt blocking his face. When he finally wrestles it off, it's in time to see Furiosa swallow the head of his cock. 

“Ungh.”

Max slumps back on shaking elbows, watching in slack-jawed awe as his dick slides in and out, her lips a tight red noose burning every millimetre of him. Her mouth is painfully hot, agonisingly wet. The sounds of her obscene slurps burst bright in his ears. He thinks the visual has actually seared itself into the backs of his eyelids. He blinks, notices her hand trailing down over her belly, and – no. That's his job.

Batting her hand away, Max shifts onto his side until he is level with her curls. Furiosa doesn't let off the suction on his dick even once, swirling her tongue around the head in corkscrewing spirals; it takes all Max's concentration just to manoeuvre her legs apart. He pulls the top one over his ear, and that helps block out the noises she makes.

Then her core is open to him. The sight of it pulses low in his belly, jerks his hips without conscious thought. Her folds are swollen and red, her clit begging for attention. There's white come smeared through her hair and over her thighs, leaking from her hole. Max licks his lips – gritty, metallic snap between his teeth, and the world swims again – and breathes her in. 

The moan she makes when his tongue laps at her clit reverberates through his cock. Max grunts, mouth full, knows he won't be long. His hips are twitching, dick leaking, and Furiosa's mouth is a pleasurable torture, firm tongue and fierce suction and lips searing all his skin.

He refocuses, licking up every trace of bitter salt in broad sweeps of his tongue. He spreads her entrance wide with his fingers, worms his tongue in deeper. She grinds her hips into his face, clit rasping over his bristly chin, groaning around her mouthful of cock. Max moans, wraps an arm around her leg to pull her closer. Her scent is intoxicating, mixed with his own essence: an evolutionary hotwire to his dick. 

Furiosa pulls her mouth off with a wet pop. She rolls his balls in her hand, then slides her fingers up the full length of his cock. She wraps them just under the head and starts pumping in quick strips. Max's climax surges up, shuddering through his thighs and out his cock. His toes curl in his boots and he is left panting against Furiosa's sensitive flesh. 

She rolls her hips.

Max takes a deep breath filled with the smell of her and goes to work: grinds his tongue hard over her clit, fingers sliding inside her to rub over that sweet spot, grunts muffled into her skin. Furiosa grips his shirt in her hand, thrusting against his mouth, and she comes with a breathy cry that soaks Max's face in her juices. 

After a long moment, Max lifts Furiosa's leg off his overheated head and rolls onto his back. He gulps in heaving lungfuls of air. Slowly, slowly, his heart rate comes down. He can hear Furiosa's breathing settle. The sky stops spinning. He can no longer taste copper dust on his tongue.

Carefully, Max works himself upright. He feels like he fought a pack of dingoes. A rueful survey down confirms he looks like it too. Glancing over Furiosa's prone body shows she isn't much better.

“Hey,” he croaks, sounding like he's gargled sand. He strokes a hand tenderly over her belly. Furiosa opens her eyes; there is much more emerald around the black pupils now. “You okay?”

She sits up, just as ginger as he had been, checks herself over before giving a short nod. “You?”

“Dizzy,” Max answers. She frowns at him, presses a hand against his forehead. It is blissfully cool. 

“We should wash,” she says. Doesn't mention a guard because, if no one has found them by now, no one is going to.

She helps pull his boots off and wriggle out of his wet pants. Max nearly falls over when he tries to stand, but Furiosa is there to steady him. Leaning heavily on each other, they limp into the cold water.

Max hisses at the sting against his bite marks and scratches. He rubs at his skin with handfuls of water, chasing away any taint of green. Ducks his head under and scrubs vigorously, does his beard too. Beside him, Furiosa scratches one-handed at her hair. 

“Want me to –?” he gestures. 

Furiosa shakes her head. 

The water grows murky with green dust and stirred sand and sweat and come. Max shivers. His teeth chatter, and Furiosa's lips are beginning to turn blue. Overhead, the sky is darkening with the onset of night. 

“We should go back to the car,” Furiosa says. 

Neither move, both eyeing the surrounding plants warily. Max can just make out the haze of green still floating in the air. 

“If we step carefully,” he suggests.

“We should go one at a time,” Furiosa says. 

Max goes first. Without the support of the water, his whole aching body feels ten times heavier. It seems like an impossibly long way to the edge of the flowers when his legs are like lead. 

“Hold your breath,” Furiosa says, crouched in the water. Max grunts an affirmative. He maps out his route, needing to collect his clothes on the way – specifically his jacket. Then, sucking air in deep, he starts moving.

There's no problem picking his clothes up from the beach, nor on the hesitant path to his jacket. When he picks it up, however, it loosens a cascade of green powder that glues to Max's skin. Lungs aching for breath, Max stumbles, pods bursting underfoot as he races for the bushes that hedge the flower patch. 

Furiosa might be shouting something from the water but his mind is set to run so run he does. 

He almost concusses himself careening into the rockface at full pelt. His cock is straining upwards, throbbing in time with his heart. Max drops his clothes to wrap both hands around it, hips stuttering into his grip. It hurts, oh how it hurts, but he can't stop, stripping his dick with efficient pulls. There's a clatter of sound behind him – flashing orange and white before his eyes – but then he's coming, little more than a dribble over his knuckles.

A hand branding his shoulder, turning him. Furiosa. Naked, clothes over her arm, boots on. 

His feet hurt. 

His dick is still hard. All he can smell is her.

“Please,” he gasps. Sinks to his knees. Mouth watering at the sight of her, speckled with clear water and mouth-shaped bruises. “Please.” Reaches a trembling arm towards her.

“No,” Furiosa says. Her eyes are very wide. 

Keening, Max bends in half, presses his forehead to the dry floor and strokes his cock, merciless pulls that have him bleating into the ground. 

If he comes again, it's swallowed into unconsciousness.

There is a blanket wrapped around him when he wakes. Max opens bleary eyes, scanning the dark surroundings. His mouth is dry, tongue too thick in his mouth.

“Here.” A water canteen thrust into his eyeline. Max startles backwards, smacks into the rockface, lays very still while his stomach roils. “It's alright, it's me, hey, it's me.” Furiosa scoots into view, hands held up non-threatening. Max lets out a choked breath. 

Wincing with every movement, Max sits upright, curling into the warmth of the blanket. He accepts the canteen and takes long, soothing pulls of its chilled contents. Furiosa is cross-legged opposite him, lining up all their weapons neatly on an old cloth. There's a few there he knows they didn't bring to this place.

“The car?” he asks.

“Fine.” She doesn't look at him. Max drinks more of the water, contemplating the stars overhead. His stomach rumbles. 

Furiosa tosses him a ration pack. By the taste: snake and beans. 

Silence reigns. It's eerie, after so much overstimulation. Max is acutely aware of the tinnitus ringing in his ear, when normally he can tune it out. 

“I put your clothes in the trunk. We'll have to go to the mall on the way back,” Furiosa says. 

Max frowns. “My jacket?”

Furiosa tilts her head, shrugging one shoulder. “Salvageable. Maybe your pants too. Not your shirt, though. It's covered in –” She doesn't finish. 

“Wouldn't want it at Citadel,” Max agrees. Hard enough already getting people to ask first. 

He finishes the ration pack and drinks the last of the water. The night cold has settled in his bones. Max shoots Furiosa a contemplative look. She is lost in thought, staring into the middle distance, shotgun cradled in her arms.

“Hey,” he says. She jerks, eyes flicking to his. He opens one side of the blanket, goosebumps rising where the air reaches, keeps most of his body tucked out of sight. Furiosa's jaw firms up in that way it does when she's going to be stubborn, but he can see her shivering. “You're cold.” 

She sighs. Stands, drags the cloth of guns closer, then eases down in the crook of Max's body. She pulls the blanket across her front. Her shoulder is chilly pressed against his arm. Max doesn't do anything but sit there, waiting.

Eventually she relaxes. Her head lolls onto his shoulder, soft felt of her hair brushing his cheek. Max lets out a slow breath. 

They don't talk. The night passes, moon appearing for a brief instance in the gaps of the palm tree canopy before vanishing again. All else is silent. When the sky begins to lighten, Furiosa worms out of the blanket, strapping guns to her person. Max, still a little light-headed, leans against the rockface while he ties the blanket around him so he isn't completely naked, before taking his sawn-off shotgun when she offers it. They edge out to the car, cautious, cautious, Furiosa on point and Max covering her six. 

He doesn't breathe easy until they are safe inside the metal shield of the car, familiar musty smell and all their guns and knives within reach. 

Furiosa places her hands reverently on the steering wheel. A few quick switches and the engine blares to life, a shock of noise in the desert quiet. 

When she looks at him it's with a pinched frown, but her eyes are soft. Max offers her his hand. She takes it, returns his squeezing reassurance.

Knocks the car into gear and floors it.

**Author's Note:**

> So was it sex pollen or sex seeds? Honestly I don't know, and I don't think they much care.
> 
> For those keeping count, the Orgasm score was: Max 8; Furiosa 11.
> 
> Join me on [tumblr](http://fadagaski.tumblr.com/) for more Mad Max mayhem.


End file.
